clumsy_auror | (no subject)

(no subject)

When you're not terribly old, even the littlest things can get you down.

Take, for example, the whole talking thing. You've got lots of words down! You do! But the whole concept of the letter D seems to largely elude you, and you can tell it's really bumming Dad out. So you're working on it.

Slowly.

But even worse is the walking. You're crawling like a pro, and taking steps with help, even pulling yourself up without help!

And yet.

And yet.

Not so much.

So it's best to practice this sort of thing when everybody's busy. Looking the other way.

No pressure.

Nooooooooo pressure.

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Raph scowls, and after a moment's pause flips off the demon.

"guess so."

If only he had access to his weapons. Stupid Mike.

'Dora stalks back into the living room and throws a dish towel at Raph. She shoots him a flat look, and then thumps into the armchair. "Bludger in a friggin china shop."

Anthony's been making his way along the couch toward Raph, and Bernard's been keeping a close eye on him; the coffee table's behind his head.

"...What'd he do?"

"Made for the booze without asking for help." As she speaks she tidies up the coffee table, setting aside the innumerable story books, coloring books, and toys that litter its surface.

"Because you would have handed him the bottle if he asked nicely," Crowley points out - though probably more out of a general instinct for contrariness than any particular guilt over impugning Raph's bladder functions.

Sorry, Raph.

"assholes, the whole lotta you."

If ever there was an Olympic medal offered in muttering, Raph would get the gold.

"Anytime you wanna stop talkin'bout me like i ain't here is just freakin' swell by me."

"Fine," Bernard sighs, steadying Anthony as he wobbles over to Raph. "Let's talk about how your brother is gonna kill me dead if you go home smelling like a distillery."

Anthony pats Raph's knee. "WUFF."

"Oh, no he won't." She slides onto the floor, allowing Anthony to plop into her lap, and smooths a hand over his dark hair. "And if he does there's plenty to cast up to him, I'm sure."

"If he does, we'll say there was a freak accident with a wand and some yeast. He won't want to know."

"You clearly ain't ever met my brother, have you?"

"Well, you do make a-- WELL DONE!"

Beaming, 'Dora watches as Anthony, having pulled himself up out of her lap, takes a couple of tentative steps on his own before sitting down.

Bernard sighs, even as he's grinning. "Figures he'd walk before he fuckin' says Daddy." But he leans over to kiss Anthony's head and then sits back, waiting to see if he does it again.

"I feel like I could make a joke about it being something Oedipal," Crowley says distractedly, leaning forward to watch Anthony's progress with interest.

Slowly and yet deliberately, Anthony pulls himself back up, and takes small, halting steps towards the sofa, his pudgy hands grasping at nothing but air.

Bernard watches him, his mouth hanging open, torn between gaping like an overjoyed loon and catching Nymphadora's eye.

Anthony takes two more steps, and Bernard has to catch a laugh before it comes out.

He's doing it.

Things are different when you're used to viewing the world from the outside, or underside as was most often the case for Raph. When you're used to seeing the world around you through the television set, you've already seen more than your fair share of baby animals taking their first steps. And while this may be the first time he's ever really witnessed first-hand the first-steps of a baby human, what keeps catching his eye is the reaction of the other adults in the room.

No documentary he's ever seen ever focused on what the family around the baby was doing.

So that's what Raph's doing right now: he's keeping an eye on the momma and the daddy and the strange-sly-snartastic-uncle.

Somewhat predictably, Nymphadora's tearing up; not so much as you'd notice, really, but enough to make her eyes a little brighter than usual.

For a moment she lifts her gaze to Bernard's, and her grin widens.

Crowley, though. Crowley doesn't have anywhere to look besides the tentatively tottering Anthony, and probably wouldn't be, besides.

Slowly, as if any sudden movement will shatter the ever-so-fragile moment, dislodge the toddler and drop him back on his bum, Crowley reaches out to place his mug on the table.

Just in case.

There's a wobble, and all the air seems to fly out of the room as Bernard visibly restrains himself from kneeling, from catching, from helping his son along.

He needs to do this himself.

He glances over and catches first Raph's eye, then Nymphadora's, his eyes dry but shining, then turns to look at Crowley and Anthony, Anthony and Crowley, two names which refer to one person and two at once, two people who with their black hair and pale skin seem to be related and in fact are in every way but one.

Anthony takes three more steps and grabs Crowley's knee with a possessive "HA!" and Bernard busts out laughing, because his son just looked up at Crowley with a strange and familiar expression of amused triumph in all-too-familiar blue eyes.

Laughing, 'Dora wriggles excitedly and sort of half-hugs Raph's leg. "Knew you could do it, sweetheart. Aren't you just brilliant."

Raph was never all that fantastic with displays of affection, so the best he can do here is pat Tonks on the arm.

"Hooo boy. You're all in for it now. Splinter always said he started goin' gray the day we started walkin'."

He smirks, turning towards Bernard.

"Good thing you got that down pat, ain't it old man?"

"Eat shit," Bernard replies easily. "This is not my first toddler, turtle."

"Yeah, except the other isn't exactly one you made earlier, either."

Getting up on her knees, 'Dora scoots over towards the sofa to drop a kiss on Anthony's head, and then leans up to kiss Bernard. Just because.

Bernard kisses his wife and tips Crowley and Raph the bird at once.

That's talent.

Anthony, in the meantime, decides to taste Crowley's knee. It tastes of money.